When I became an orphan in November, the stone birds in my chest molted, reconfiguring themselves to accommodate all the sky’s suffering. Whatever you do, don’t tell the first graders. They must seek fall’s nostalgia and own beveled spatulas before facing the truth. And if this response reminds you of something or someone you already know, step out of the story, deny yourself Iceland, pluck another overwhelming desire from the tree, and measure your years via Mercury’s ellipse.

Beautiful fragments and true work of poetry. Breathtaking and profound as life and death. Makes me want to be true to myself. Kind of sad…Thank you anyway, I’ll be following you. Happy new year ! Cheers,
Antoine

Truly exquisite net of interdimensional thoughts intricately orchestrated into leading to a wonderful final thought, literally forcing the reader to “enter” cell-by-cell your somehow extrapolated self, generously offered to all willing to experience the hatching out of birds, lonely birds…
Also beautiful imagery of the half-melted stone heart on only “his” wedding day…
Will be reading you…
My comment may sound a bit strange; it may as I’m editor for the English pages of the #1 Romanian culture site…
Appologies:-))
All my best for the new year!